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I had called upon
my friend Sherlock Holmes upon the second morning after Christmas, with the intention
of wishing him the compliments of the season. He was lounging upon the sofa in
a purple dressing-gown, a pipe-rack within his reach upon the right, and a pile
of crumpled morning papers, evidently newly studied, near at hand. Beside the
couch was a wooden chair, and on the angle of the back hung a very seedy and disreputable
hard-felt hat, much the worse for wear, and cracked in several places. A lens
and a forceps lying upon the seat of the chair suggested that the hat had been
suspended in this manner for the purpose of examination.

"You are engaged,"
said l; "perhaps I interrupt you."

"Not at all.
I am glad to have a friend with whom I can discuss my results. The matter is
a perfectly trivial one" -- he jerked his thumb in the direction of the
old hat -- "but there are points in connection with it which are not entirely
devoid of interest and even of instruction."

I seated myself
in his armchair and warmed my hands before his crackling fire, for a sharp frost
had set in, and the windows were thick with the ice crystals. "I suppose,"
I remarked, "that, homely as it looks, this thing has some deadly story
linked on to it -- that it is the clue which will guide you in the solution
of some mystery and the punishment of some crime."

"No, no. No
crime," said Sherlock Holmes, laughing. "Only one of those whimsical
little incidents which will happen when you have four million human beings all
jostling each other within the space of a few square miles. Amid the action
and reaction of so dense a swarm of humanity, every possible combination of
events may be expected to take place, and many a little problem will be presented
which may be striking and bizarre without being criminal. We have already had
experience of such."

"So much so,"
l remarked, "that of the last six cases which I have added to my notes,
three have been entirely free of any legal crime."

"Precisely.
You allude to my attempt to recover the Irene Adler papers, to the singular
case of Miss Mary Sutherland, and to the adventure of the man with the twisted
lip. Well, I have no doubt that this small matter will fall into the same innocent
category. You know Peterson, the commissionaire?"

"Yes."

"It is to
him that this trophy belongs."

"It is his
hat."

"No, no, he
found it. Its owner is unknown. I beg that you will look upon it not as a battered
billycock but as an intellectual problem. And, first, as to how it came here.
It arrived upon Christmas morning, in company with a good fat goose, which is,
I have no doubt, roasting at this moment in front of Peterson's fire. The facts
are these: about four o'clock on Christmas morning, Peterson, who, as you know,
is a very honest fellow, was returning from some small jollification and was
making his way homeward down Tottenham Court Road. In front of him he saw, in
the gaslight, a tallish man, walking with a slight stagger, and carrying a white
goose slung over his shoulder. As he reached the corner of Goodge Street, a
row broke out between this stranger and a little knot of roughs. One of the
latter knocked off the man's hat, on which he raised his stick to defend himself
and, swinging it over his head, smashed the shop window behind him. Peterson
had rushed forward to protect the stranger from his assailants; but the man,
shocked at having broken the window, and seeing an official-looking person in
uniform rushing towards him, dropped his goose, took to his heels, and vanished
amid the labyrinth of small streets which lie at the back of Tottenham Court
Road. The roughs had also fled at the appearance of Peterson, so that he was
left in possession of the field of battle, and also of the spoils of victory
in the shape of this battered hat and a most unimpeachable Christmas goose."

"Which surely
he restored to their owner?"

"My dear fellow,
there lies the problem. It is true that 'For Mrs. Henry Baker' was printed upon
a small card which was tied to the bird's left leg, and it is also true that
the initials 'H. B.' are legible upon the lining of this hat, but as there are
some thousands of Bakers, and some hundreds of Henry Bakers in this city of
ours, it is not easy to restore lost property to any one of them."

"What, then,
did Peterson do?"

"He brought
round both hat and goose to me on Christmas morning, knowing that even the smallest
problems are of interest to me. The goose we retained until this morning, when
there were signs that, in spite of the slight frost, it would be well that it
should be eaten without unnecessary delay. Its finder has carried it off, therefore,
to fulfil the ultimate destiny of a goose, while I continue to retain the hat
of the unknown gentleman who lost his Christmas dinner."

"Did he not
advertise?"

"No."

"Then, what
clue could you have as to his identity?"

"Only as much
as we can deduce."

"From his
hat?"

"Precisely."

"But you are
joking. What can you gather from this old battered felt?"

"Here is my
lens. You know my methods. What can you gather yourself as to the individuality
of the man who has worn this article?"

I took the tattered
object in my hands and turned it over rather ruefully. It was a very ordinary
black hat of the usual round shape, hard and much the worse for wear. The lining
had been of red silk, but was a good deal discoloured. There was no maker's
name; but, as Holmes had remarked, the initials "H. B." were scrawled
upon one side. It was pierced in the brim for a hatsecurer, but the elastic
was missing. For the rest, it was cracked, exceedingly dusty, and spotted in
several places, although there seemed to have been some attempt to hide the
discoloured patches by smearing them with ink.

"I can see
nothing," said I, handing it back to my friend.

"On the contrary,
Watson, you can see everything. You fail, however, to reason from what you see.
You are too timid in drawing your inferences."

"Then, pray
tell me what it is that you can infer from this hat?"

He picked it up
and gazed at it in the peculiar introspective fashion which was characteristic
of him. "It is perhaps less suggestive than it might have been," he
remarked, "and yet there are a few inferences which are very distinct,
and a few others which represent at least a strong balance of probability. That
the man was highly intellectual is of course obvious upon the face of it, and
also that he was fairly well-to-do within the last three years, although he
has now fallen upon evil days. He had foresight, but has less now than formerly,
pointing to a moral retrogression, which, when taken with the decline of his
fortunes, seems to indicate some evil influence, probably drink, at work upon
him. This may account also for the obvious fact that his wife has ceased to
love him."

"My dear Holmes!"

"He has, however,
retained some degree of self-respect," he continued, disregarding my remonstrance.
"He is a man who leads a sedentary life, goes out little, is out of training
entirely, is middle-aged, has grizzled hair which he has had cut within the
last few days, and which he anoints with lime-cream. These are the more patent
facts which are to be deduced from his hat. Also, by the way, that it is extremely
improbable that he has gas laid on in his house."

"You are certainly
joking, Holmes."

"Not in the
least. Is it possible that even now, when I give you these results, you are
unable to see how they are attained?"

"I have no
doubt that I am very stupid, but I must confess that I am unable to follow you.
For example, how did you deduce that this man was intellectual?"

For answer Holmes
clapped the hat upon his head. It came right over the forehead and settled upon
the bridge of his nose. "It is a question of cubic capacity," said
he; "a man with so large a brain must have something in it."

"The decline
of his fortunes, then?"

"This hat
is three years old. These flat brims curled at the edge came in then. It is
a hat of the very best quality. Look at the band of ribbed silk and the excellent
lining. If this man could afford to buy so expensive a hat three years ago,
and has had no hat since, then he has assuredly gone down in the world."

"Well, that
is clear enough, certainly. But how about the foresight and the moral retrogression?"

Sherlock Holmes
laughed. "Here is the foresight," said he putting his finger upon
the little disc and loop of the hat-securer. "They are never sold upon
hats. If this man ordered one, it is a sign of a certain amount of foresight,
since he went out of his way to take this precaution against the wind. But since
we see that he has broken the elastic and has not troubled to replace it, it
is obvious that he has less foresight now than formerly, which is a distinct
proof of a weakening nature. On the other hand, he has endeavoured to conceal
some of these stains upon the felt by daubing them with ink, which is a sign
that he has not entirely lost his self-respect."

"Your reasoning
is certainly plausible."

"The further
points, that he is middle-aged, that his hair is grizzled, that it has been
recently cut, and that he uses limecream, are all to be gathered from a close
examination of the lower part of the lining. The lens discloses a large number
of hair-ends, clean cut by the scissors of the barber. They all appear to be
adhesive, and there is a distinct odour of lime-cream. This dust, you will observe,
is not the gritty, gray dust of the street but the fluffy brown dust of the
house, showing that it has been hung up indoors most of the time, while the
marks of moisture upon the inside are proof positive that the wearer perspired
very freely, and could therefore, hardly be in the best of training."

"But his wife
-- you said that she had ceased to love him."

"This hat
has not been brushed for weeks. When I see you, my dear Watson, with a week's
accumulation of dust upon your hat, and when your wife allows you to go out
in such a state, I shall fear that you also have been unfortunate enough to
lose your wife's affection."

"But he might
be a bachelor."

"Nay, he was
bringing home the goose as a peace-offering to his wife. Remember the card upon
the bird's leg."

"You have
an answer to everything. But how on earth do you deduce that the gas is not
laid on in his house?"

"One tallow
stain, or even two, might come by chance; but when I see no less than five,
I think that there can be little doubt that the individual must be brought into
frequent contact with burning tallow -- walks upstairs at night probably with
his hat in one hand and a guttering candle in the other. Anyhow, he never got
tallow-stains from a gasjet. Are you satisfied?"

"Well, it
is very ingenious," said I, laughing; "but since, as you said just
now, there has been no crime committed, and no harm done save the loss of a
goose, all this seems to be rather a waste of energy."

Sherlock Holmes
had opened his mouth to reply, when the door flew open, and Peterson, the commissionaire,
rushed into the apartment with flushed cheeks and the face of a man who is dazed
with astonishment.

"The goose,
Mr. Holmes! The goose, sir!" he gasped.

"Eh? What
of it, then? Has it returned to life and flapped off through the kitchen window?" Holmes twisted himself round upon the sofa to get a fairer view of the man's
excited face.

"See here,
sir! See what my wife found in its crop!" He held out his hand and displayed
upon the centre of the palm a brilliantly scintillating blue stone, rather smaller
than a bean in size, but of such purity and radiance that it twinkled like an
electric point in the dark hollow of his hand.

Sherlock Holmes
sat up with a whistle. "By Jove, Peterson!" said he, "this is
treasure trove indeed. I suppose you know what you have got?"

"A diamond,
sir? A precious stone. It cuts into glass as though it were putty."

"It's. more
than a precious stone. It is the precious stone."

"Not the Countess
of Morcar's blue carbuncle!" I ejaculated.

"Precisely
so. l ought to know its size and shape, seeing that I have read the advertisement
about it in The Times every day lately. It is absolutely unique, and its value
can only be conjectured, but the reward offered of 1000 pounds is certainly
not within a twentieth part of the market price."

"A thousand
pounds! Great Lord of mercy!" The commissionaire plumped down into a chair
and stared from one to the other of us.

"That is the
reward, and I have reason to know that there are sentimental considerations
in the background which would induce the Countess to part with half her fortune
if she could but recover the gem."

"It was lost,
if I remember aright, at the Hotel Cosmopolitan," I remarked.

"Precisely
so, on December 22d, just five days ago. John Horner, a plumber, was accused
of having abstracted it from the lady's jewel-case. The evidence against him
was so strong that the case has been referred to the Assizes. I have some account
of the matter here, I believe." He rummaged amid his newspapers, glancing
over the dates, until at last he smoothed one out, doubled it over, and read
the following paragraph:

"Hotel Cosmopolitan Jewel Robbery. John Horner, 26, plumber, was brought
up upon the charge of having upon the 22d inst., abstracted from the jewel-case
of the Countess of Morcar the valuable gem known as the blue carbuncle. James
Ryder, upper-attendant at the hotel, gave his evidence to the effect that he
had shown Horner up to the dressing-room of the Countess of Morcar upon the
day of the robbery in order that he might solder the second bar of the grate,
which was loose. He had remained with Horner some little time, but had finally
been called away. On returning, he found that Horner had disappeared, that the
bureau had been forced open, and that the small morocco casket in which, as
it afterwards transpired, the Countess was accustomed to keep her jewel, was
lying empty upon the dressing-table. Ryder instantly gave the alarm, and Horner
was arrested the same evening; but the stone could not be found either upon
his person or in his rooms. Catherine Cusack, maid to the Countess, deposed
to having heard Ryder's cry of dismay on discovering the robbery, and to having
rushed into the room, where she found matters as described by the last witness.
Inspector Bradstreet, B division, gave evidence as to the arrest of Horner,
who struggled frantically, and protested his innocence in the strongest terms.
Evidence of a previous conviction for robbery having been given against the
prisoner, the magistrate refused to deal summarily with the offence, but referred
it to the Assizes. Horner, who had shown signs of intense emotion during the
proceedings, fainted away at the conclusion and was carried out of court.

"Hum! So much for the police-court," said Holmes thoughtfully, tossing
aside the paper. "The question for us now to solve is the sequence of events
leading from a rifled jewel-case at one end to the crop of a goose in Tottenham
Court Road at the other. You see, Watson, our little deductions have suddenly
assumed a much more important and less innocent aspect. Here is the stone; the
stone came from the goose, and the goose came from Mr. Henry Baker, the gentleman
with the bad hat and all the other characteristics with which I have bored you.
So now we must set ourselves very seriously to finding this gentleman and ascertaining
what part he has played in this little mystery. To do this, we must try the
simplest means first, and these lie undoubtedly in an advertisement in all the
evening papers. If this fail, I shall have recourse to other methods."

"What will
you say?"

"Give me a
pencil and that slip of paper. Now, then:

"Found at the corner of Goodge Street, a goose and a

black felt hat.
Mr. Henry Baker can have the same by

applying at 6:30
this evening at 221B, Baker Street.

That is clear and
concise."

"Very. But
will he see it?"

"Well, he
is sure to keep an eye on the papers, since, to a poor man, the loss was a heavy
one. He was clearly so scared by his mischance in breaking the window and by
the approach of Peterson that he thought of nothing but flight, but since then
he must have bitterly regretted the impulse which caused him to drop his bird.
Then, again, the introduction of his name will cause him to see it, for everyone
who knows him will direct his attention to it. Here you are, Peterson, run down
to the advertising agency and have this put in the evening papers."

"In which,
sir?"

"Oh, in the
Clobe, Star, Pall Mall, St. James's, Evening News Standard, Echo, and any others
that occur to you."

"Very well,
sir. And this stone?"

"Ah, yes,
I shall keep the stone. Thank you. And, I say, Peterson, just buy a goose on
your way back and leave it here with me, for we must have one to give to this
gentleman in place of the one which your family is now devouring."

When the commissionaire
had gone, Holmes took up the stone and held it against the light. "It's
a bonny thing," said he. "Just see how it glints and sparkles. Of
course it is a nucleus and focus of crime. Every good stone is. They are the
devil's pet baits. In the larger and older jewels every facet may stand for
a bloody deed. This stone is not yet twenty years old. It was found in the banks
of the Amoy River in southem China and is remarkable in having every characteristic
of the carbuncle, save that it is blue in shade instead of ruby red. In spite
of its youth, it has already a sinister history. There have been two murders,
a vitriol-throwing, a suicide, and several robberies brought about for the sake
of this forty-grain weight of crystallized charcoal. Who would think that so
pretty a toy would be a purveyor to the gallows and the prison? I'll lock it
up in my strong box now and drop a line to the Countess to say that we have
it."

"Do you think
that this man Horner is innocent?"

"I cannot
tell."

"Well, then,
do you imagine that this other one, Henry Baker, had anything to do with the
matter?"

"It is, I
think, much more likely that Henry Baker is an absolutely innocent man, who
had no idea that the bird which he was carrying was of considerably more value
than if it were made of solid gold. That, however, I shall determine by a very
simple test if we have an answer to our advertisement."

"And you can
do nothing until then?"

"Nothing. "

"In that case
I shall continue my professional round. But I shall come back in the evening
at the hour you have mentioned, for I should like to see the solution of so
tangled a business."

"Very glad
to see you. I dine at seven. There is a woodcock, I believe. By the way, in
view of recent occurrences, perhaps I ought to ask Mrs. Hudson to examine its
crop."

I had been delayed
at a case, and it was a little after half-past six when I found myself in Baker
Street once more. As I approached the house I saw a tall man in a Scotch bonnet
with a coat which was buttoned up to his chin waiting outside in the bright
semicircle which was thrown from the fanlight. Just as l arrived the door was
opened, and we were shown up together to Holmes's room.

"Mr. Henry
Baker, I believe," said he, rising from his armchair and greeting his visitor
with the easy air of geniality which he could so readily assume. "Pray
take this chair by the fire, Mr. Baker. It is a cold night, and I observe that
your circulation is more adapted for summer than for winter. Ah, Watson, you
have just come at the right time. Is that your hat, Mr. Baker?"

"Yes, sir,
that is undoubtedly my hat."

He was a large
man with rounded shoulders, a massive head, and a broad, intelligent face, sloping
down to a pointed beard of grizzled brown. A touch of red in nose and cheeks,
with a slight tremor of his extended hand, recalled Holmes's surmise as to his
habits. His rusty black frock-coat was buttoned right up in front, with the
collar turned up, and his lank wrists protruded from his sleeves without a sign
of cuff or shirt. He spoke in a slow staccato fashion, choosing his words with
care, and gave the impression generally of a man of learning and letters who
had had ill-usage at the hands of fortune.

"We have retained
these things for some days," said Holmes, "because we expected to
see an advertisement from you giving your address. I am at a loss to know now
why you did not advertise."

Our visitor gave
a rather shamefaced laugh. "Shillings have not been so plentiful with me
as they once were," he remarked. "I had no doubt that the gang of
roughs who assaulted me had carried off both my hat and the bird. I did not
care to spend more money in a hopeless attempt at recovering them."

"Very naturally.
By the way, about the bird, we were compelled to eat it."

"To eat it!" Our visitor half rose from his chair in his excitement.

"Yes, it would
have been of no use to anyone had we not done so. But I presume that this other
goose upon the sideboard, which is about the same weight and perfectly fresh,
will answer your purpose equally well?"

"Oh, certainly,
certainly," answered Mr. Baker with a sigh of relief.

"Of course,
we still have the feathers, legs, crop, and so on of your own bird, so if you
wish --"

The man burst into
a hearty laugh. "They might be useful to me as relics of my adventure,"
said he, "but beyond that I can hardly see what use the disjecta membra
of my late acquaintance are going to be to me. No, sir, I think that, with your
permission, I will confine my attentions to the excellent bird which I perceive
upon the sideboard."

Sherlock Holmes
glanced sharply across at me with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

"There is
your hat, then, and there your bird," said he. "By the way, would
it bore you to tell me where you got the other one from? I am somewhat of a
fowl fancier, and I have seldom seen a better grown goose."

"Certainly,
sir," said Baker, who had risen and tucked his newly gained property under
his arm. "There are a few of us who frequent the Alpha Inn, near the Museum
-- we are to be found in the Museum itself during the day, you understand. This
year our good host, Windigate by name, instituted a goose club, by which, on
consideration of some few pence every week, we were each to receive a bird at
Christmas. My pence were duly paid, and the rest is familiar to you. I am much
indebted to you, sir, for a Scotch bonnet is fitted neither to my years nor
my gravity." With a comical pomposity of manner he bowed solemnly to both
of us and strode off upon his way.

"So much for
Mr. Henry Baker," said Holmes when he had closed the door behind him. "It
is quite certain that he knows nothing whatever about the matter. Are you hungry,
Watson?"

"Not particularly."

"Then I suggest
that we turn our dinner into a supper and follow up this clue while it is still
hot."

"By all means."

It was a bitter
night, so we drew on our ulsters and wrapped cravats about our throats. Outside,
the stars were shining coldly in a cloudless sky, and the breath of the passers-by
blew out into smoke like so many pistol shots. Our footfalls rang out crisply
and loudly as we swung through the doctors' quarter, Wimpole Street, Harley
Street, and so through Wigmore Street into Oxford Street. In a quarter of an
hour we were in Bloomsbury at the Alpha Inn, which is a small public-house at
the corner of one of the streets which runs down into Holborn. Holmes pushed
open the door of the private bar and ordered two glasses of beer from the ruddy-faced,
white-aproned landlord.

"Your beer
should be excellent if it is as good as your geese," said he.

"My geese!" The man seemed surprised.

"Yes. I was
speaking only half an hour ago to Mr. Henry Baker, who was a member of your
goose club."

"Now for Mr.
Breckinridge," he continued, buttoning up his coat as we came out into
the frosty air. "Remember, Watson that though we have so homely a thing
as a goose at one end of this chain, we have at the other a man who will certainly
get seven years' penal servitude unless we can establish his innocence. It is
possible that our inquiry may but confirm his guilt but, in any case, we have
a line of investigation which has been missed by the police, and which a singular
chance has placed in our hands. Let us follow it out to the bitter end. Faces
to the south, then, and quick march!"

We passed across
Holborn, down Endell Street, and so through a zigzag of slums to Covent Garden
Market. One of the largest stalls bore the name of Breckinridge upon it, and
the proprietor a horsy-looking man, with a sharp face and trim side-whiskers
was help ing a boy to put up the shutters.

"Good-evening.
It's a cold night," said Holmes.

The salesman nodded
and shot a questioning glance at my companion.

"Sold out
of geese, I see," continued Holmes, pointing at the bare slabs of marble.

"Let you have
five hundred to-morrow morning."

"That's no
good."

"Well, there
are some on the stall with the gas-flare."

"Ah, but I
was recommended to you."

"Who by?"

"The landlord
of the Alpha."

"Oh, yes;
I sent him a couple of dozen."

"Fine birds
they were, too. Now where did you get them from?"

To my surprise
the question provoked a burst of anger from the salesman.

"Now, then,
mister," said he, with his head cocked and his arms akimbo, "what
are you driving at? Let's have it straight, now."

"It is straight
enough. I should like to know who sold you the geese which you supplied to the
Alpha."

"Well then,
I shan't tell you. So now!"

"Oh, it is
a matter of no importance; but I don't know why you should be so warm over such
a trifle."

"Warm! You'd
be as warm, maybe, if you were as pestered as I am. When I pay good money for
a good article there should be an end of the business; but it's 'Where are the
geese?' and 'Who did you sell the geese to?' and 'What will you take for the
geese?' One would think they were the only geese in the world, to hear the fuss
that is made over them."

"Well, I have
no connection with any other people who have been making inquiries," said
Holmes carelessly. "If you won't tell us the bet is off, that is all. But
I'm always ready to back my opinion on a matter of fowls, and I have a fiver
on it that the bird I ate is country bred."

"Well, then,
you've lost your fiver, for it's town bred," snapped the salesman.

"It's nothing
of the kind."

"I say it
is."

"I don't believe
it."

"D'you think
you know more about fowls than I, who have handled them ever since I was a nipper?
I tell you, all those birds that went to the Alpha were town bred."

"You'll never
persuade me to believe that."

"Will you
bet, then?"

"It's merely
taking your money, for I know that I am right. But I'll have a sovereign on
with you, just to teach you not to be obstinate."

The salesman chuckled
grimly. "Bring me the books, Bill," said he.

The small boy brought
round a small thin volume and a great greasy-backed one, laying them out together
beneath the hanging lamp.

"Now then,
Mr. Cocksure," said the salesman, "I thought that I was out of geese,
but before I finish you'll find that there is still one left in my shop. You
see this little book?"

"Well?"

"That's the
list of the folk from whom I buy. D'you see? Well, then, here on this page are
the country folk, and the numbers after their names are where their accounts
are in the big ledger. Now, then! You see this other page in red ink? Well,
that is a list of my town suppliers. Now, look at that third name. Just read
it out to me."

Sherlock Holmes
looked deeply chagrined. He drew a sovereign from his pocket and threw it down
upon the slab, turning away with the air of a man whose disgust is too deep
for words. A few yards off he stopped under a lamp-post and laughed in the hearty,
noiseless fashion which was peculiar to him.

"When you
see a man with whiskers of that cut and the 'Pink 'un' protruding out of his
pocket, you can always draw him by a bet," said he. "I daresay that
if I had put lOO pounds down in front of him, that man would not have given
me such complete information as was drawn from him by the idea that he was doing
me on a wager. Well, Watson, we are, I fancy, nearing the end of our quest,
and the only point which remains to be determined is whether we should go on
to this Mrs. Oakshott to-night, or whether we should reserve it for to-morrow.
It is clear from what that surly fellow said that there are others besides ourselves
who are anxious about the matter, and I should --"

His remarks were
suddenly cut short by a loud hubbub which broke out from the stall which we
had just left. Turning round we saw a little rat-faced fellow standing in the
centre of the circle of yellow light which was thrown by the swinging lamp,
while Breckinridge, the salesman, framed in the door of his stall, was shaking
his fists fiercely at the cringing figure.

"I've had
enough of you and your geese," he shouted. "I wish you were all at
the devil together. If you come pestering me any more with your silly talk I'll
set the dog at you. You bring Mrs. Oakshott here and I'll answer her, but what
have you to do with it? Did I buy the geese off you?"

"No; but one
of them was mine all the same," whined the little man.

"Well, then,
ask Mrs. Oakshott for it."

"She told
me to ask you."

"Well, you
can ask the King of Proosia, for all I care. I've had enough of it. Get out
of this!" He rushed fiercely forward, and the inquirer flitted away into
the darkness.

"Ha! this
may save us a visit to Brixton Road," whispered Holmes. "Come with
me, and we will see what is to be made of this fellow." Striding through
the scattered knots of people who lounged round the flaring stalls, my companion
speedily overtook the little man and touched him upon the shoulder. He sprang
round, and I could see in the gas-light that every vestige of colour had been
driven from his face.

"Who are you,
then? What do you want?" he asked in a quavering voice.

"You will
excuse me," said Holmes blandly, "but I could not help overhearing
the questions which you put to the salesman just now. I think that I could be
of assistance to you."

"You? Who
are you? How could you know anything of the matter?"

"My name is
Sherlock Holmes. It is my business to know what other people don't know."

"But you can
know nothing of this?"

"Excuse me,
I know everything of it. You are endeavouring to trace some geese which were
sold by Mrs. Oakshott, of Brixton Road, to a salesman named Breckinridge, by
him in turn to Mr. Windigate, of the Alpha, and by him to his club, of which
Mr. Henry Baker is a member."

"Oh, sir,
you are the very man whom I have longed to meet," cried the little fellow
with outstretched hands and quivering fingers. "I can hardly explain to
you how interested I am in this matter."

Sherlock Holmes
hailed a four-wheeler which was passing. "In that case we had better discuss
it in a cosy room rather than in this wind-swept market-place," said he.
"But pray tell me, before we go farther, who it is that I have the pleasure
of assisting."

The man hesitated
for an instant. "My name is John Robinson," he answered with a sidelong
glance.

"No, no; the
real name," said Holmes sweetly. "It is always awkward doing business
with an alias."

A flush sprang
to the white cheeks of the stranger. "Well then," said he, "my
real name is James Ryder."

"Precisely
so. Head attendant at the Hotel Cosmopolitan. Pray step into the cab, and I
shall soon be able to tell you everything which you would wish to know."

The little man
stood glancing from one to the other of us with half-frightened, half-hopeful
eyes, as one who is not sure whether he is on the verge of a windfall or of
a catastrophe. Then he stepped into the cab, and in half an hour we were back
in the sitting-room at Baker Street. Nothing had been said during our drive,
but the high, thin breathing of our new companion, and the claspings and unclaspings
of his hands, spoke of the nervous tension within him.

"Here we are!"
said Holmes cheerily as we filed into the room. "The fire looks very seasonabe
in this weather. You look cold, Mr. Ryder. Pray take the basket-chair. I will
just put on my slippers before we settle this little matter of yours. Now, then!
You want to know what became of those geese?"

"Yes, sir."

"Or rather,
I fancy, of that goose. It was one bird, I imagine in which you were interested
-- white, with a black bar across the tail."

Ryder quivered
with emotion. "Oh, sir," he cried, "can you tell me where it
went to?"

"It came here."

"Here?"

"Yes, and
a most remarkable bird it proved. I don't wonder that you should take an interest
in it. It laid an egg after it was dead -- the bonniest, brightest little blue
egg that ever was seen. I have it here in my museum."

Our visitor staggered
to his feet and clutched the mantelpiece with his right hand. Holmes unlocked
his strong-box and held up the blue carbuncle, which shone out like a star,
with a cold brilliant, many-pointed radiance. Ryder stood glaring with a drawn
face, uncertain whether to claim or to disown it.

"The game's
up, Ryder," said Holmes quietly. "Hold up, man, or you'll be into
the fire! Give him an arm back into his chair, Watson. He's not got blood enough
to go in for felony with impunity. Give him a dash of brandy. So! Now he looks
a little more human. What a shrimp it is, to be sure!"

For a moment he
had staggered and nearly fallen, but the brandy brought a tinge of colour into
his cheeks, and he sat staring with frightened eyes at his accuser.

"I have almost
every link in my hands, and all the proofs which I could possibly need, so there
is little which you need tell me. Still, that little may as well be cleared
up to make the case complete. You had heard, Ryder, of this blue stone of the
Countess of Morcar's?"

"It was Catherine
Cusack who told me of it," said he in a crackling voice.

"I see --
her ladyship's waiting-maid. Well, the temptation of sudden wealth so easily
acquired was too much for you, as it has been for better men before you; but
you were not very scrupulous in the means you used. It seems to me, Ryder, that
there is the making of a very pretty villain in you. You knew that this man
Horner, the plumber, had been concerned in some such matter before, and that
suspicion would rest the more readily upon him. What did you do, then? You made
some small job in my lady's room -- you and your confederate Cusack -- and you
managed that he should be the man sent for. Then, when he had left, you rifled
the jewel-case, raised the alarm, and had this unfortunate man arrested. You
then --"

Ryder threw himself
down suddenly upon the rug and clutched at my companion's knees. "For God's
sake, have mercy!" he shrieked. "Think of my father! of my mother!
It would break their hearts. I never went wrong before! I never will again.
I swear it. I'll swear it on a Bible. Oh, don't bring it into court! For Christ's
sake, don't!"

"Get back
into your chair!" said Holmes sternly. "It is very well to cringe
and crawl now, but you thought little enough of this poor Horner in the dock
for a crime of which he knew nothing."

"I will fly,
Mr. Holmes. I will leave the country, sir. Then the charge against him will
break down."

"Hum! We will
talk about that. And now let us hear a true account of the next act. How came
the stone into the goose, and how came the goose into the open market? Tell
us the truth, for there lies your only hope of safety."

Ryder passed his
tongue over his parched lips. "I will tell you it just as it happened,
sir," said he. "When Horner had been arrested, it seemed to me that
it would be best for me to get away with the stone at once, for I did not know
at what moment the police might not take it into their heads to search me and
my room. There was no place about the hotel where it would be safe. I went out,
as if on some commission, and I made for my sister's house. She had married
a man named Oakshott, and lived in Brixton Road, where she fattened fowls for
the market. All the way there every man I met seemed to me to be a policeman
or a detective; and, for all that it was a cold night, the sweat was pouring
down my face before I came to the Brixton Road. My sister asked me what was
the matter, and why I was so pale; but I told her that I had been upset by the
jewel robbery at the hotel. Then I went into the back yard and smoked a pipe
and wondered what it would be best to do.

"I had a friend
once called Maudsley, who went to the bad, and has just been serving his time
in Pentonville. One day he had met me, and fell into talk about the ways of
thieves, and how they could get rid of what they stole. I knew that he would
be true to me, for I knew one or two things about him; so I made up my mind
to go right on to Kilburn, where he lived, and take him into my confidence.
He would show me how to turn the stone into money. But how to get to him in
safety? I thought of the agonies I had gone through in coming from the hotel.
I might at any moment be seized and searched, and there would be the stone in
my waistcoat pocket. I was leaning against the wall at the time and looking
at the geese which were waddling about round my feet, and suddenly an idea came
into my head which showed me how I could beat the best detective that ever lived.

"My sister
had told me some weeks before that I might have the pick of her geese for a
Christmas present, and I knew that she was always as good as her word. I would
take my goose now, and in it I would carry my stone to Kilburn. There was a
little shed in the yard, and behind this I drove one of the birds -- a fine
big one, white, with a barred tail. I caught it, and prying its bill open, I
thrust the stone down its throat as far as my finger could reach. The bird gave
a gulp, and I felt the stone pass along its gullet and down into its crop. But
the creature flapped and struggled, and out came my sister to know what was
the matter. As I turned to speak to her the brute broke loose and fluttered
off among the others.

" 'Whatever
were you doing with that bird, Jem?' says she.

" 'Well,'
said I, 'you said you'd give me one for Christmas, and I was feeling which was
the fattest.'

" 'Oh,' says
she, 'we've set yours aside for you -- Jem's bird, we call it. It's the big
white one over yonder. There's twenty-six of them, which makes one for you,
and one for us, and two dozen for the market.'

" 'Thank you,
Maggie,' says l; 'but if it is all the same to you, I'd rather have that one
I was handling just now.'

" 'The other
is a good three pound heavier,' said she, 'and we fattened it expressly for
you.'

" 'Never mind.
I'll have the other, and I'll take it now,' said I.

" 'Oh, just
as you like,' said she, a little huffed. 'Which is it you want, then?'

" 'That white
one with the barred tail, right in the middle of the flock.'

" 'Oh, very
well. Kill it and take it with you.'

"Well, I did
what she said, Mr. Holmes, and I carried the bird all the way to Kilburn. I
told my pal what I had done, for he was a man that it was easy to tell a thing
like that to. He laughed until he choked, and we got a knife and opened the
goose. My heart turned to water, for there was no sign of the stone, and I knew
that some terrible mistake had occurred. I left the bird rushed back to my sister's,
and hurried into the back yard. There was not a bird to be seen there.

" 'Where are
they all, Maggie?' I cried.

" 'Gone to
the dealer's, Jem.'

" 'Which dealer's?'

" 'Breckinridge,
of Covent Garden.'

" 'But was
there another with a barred tail?' I asked, 'the same as the one I chose?'

" 'Yes, Jem;
there were two barred-tailed ones, and I could never tell them apart.'

"Well, then,
of course I saw it all, and I ran off as hard as my feet would carry me to this
man Breckinridge; but he had sold the lot at once, and not one word would he
tell me as to where they had gone. You heard him yourselves to-night. Well,
he has always answered me like that. My sister thinks that I am going mad. Sometimes
I think that I am myself. And now -- and now I am myself a branded thief, without
ever having touched the wealth for which I sold my character. God help me! God
help me!" He burst into convulsive sobbing, with his face buried in his
hands.

There was a long
silence, broken only by his heavy breathing and by the measured tapping of Sherlock
Holmes's finger-tips upon the edge of the table. Then my friend rose and threw
open the door.

"Get out!" said he.

"What, sir!
Oh, Heaven bless you!"

"No more words.
Get out!"

And no more words
were needed. There was a rush, a clatter upon the stairs, the bang of a door,
and the crisp rattle of running footfalls from the street.

"After all,
Watson," said Holmes, reaching up his hand for his clay pipe, "I am
not retained by the police to supply their deficiencies. If Horner were in danger
it would be another thing; but this fellow will not appear against him, and
the case must collapse. I suppose that I am commuting a felony. but it is just
possible that I am saving a soul. This fellow will not go wrong again; he is
too terribly frightened. Send him to jail now, and you make him a jail-bird
for life. Besides, it is the season of forgiveness. Chance has put in our way
a most singular and whimsical problem, and its solution is its own reward. If
you will have the goodness to touch the bell, Doctor, we will begin another
investigation, in which, also a bird will be the chief feature."